The Mighty Fall
by TheLittleStray
Summary: A king reflects on his conqueror. Lysandre remembers a withdrawn little girl who looked lost, even amiss the company of her friends. Now, he can only see a Champion with an army at her waist. Sycamore's pupil turned into a force to be reckoned with, and now the fallen leader wonders how he had missed her transition from trainer to solider. A Post Pokemon X Story.
1. Chapter One: Fresh Eyes

When he first saw her, she had fresh eyes. The type of curious gaze that seemed constantly engaged. A shade of blue that could rival the sky. Over time, they would harden. That clarity would shatter like ice, filled with a storm gray, gleaming with malice. She would stare at him like a hungry animal, caged but struggling for release...but this was long before then. Back when her shoulders were slumped, when she seemed to cower from attention. Before she would bare her teeth at him, and before he would taste defeat.

Long after their first meeting, when they were alone, she had told him that she didn't understand people. And to him, after some brief observations, he couldn't help but agree. She was a fighter. Charisma was not her strongest point, it was her crippling weakness. The girl had few friends, but that would slowly change in this region...but even now, reflecting back, he couldn't help but question it. Did she really consider that rag-tag team of children friends? When it had been her who fought the hardest? Maybe it was some sort of delusion on their part, believing they could approach a displaced solider like her.

When he had met her, she had been nothing but a shadow of what was to be. He would have dismissed her for another adventurous youth, just like the rest, but something had caught him. Something that he only now understood. When he looked at her, she stared right back with that sharp gaze. Even with such a small frame and such delicate steps, she had power. Maybe not in her grip, but from the core of her being. Potential at it's purest form, waiting to be brought forth. He wished he had appreciated it before that strength had taken over. Wished he could have known her when she was still a mere Fletchling, before her flickering ember would become a roaring fire. When the only problem that would trouble him would have been her social anxieties, and not the monster that battled so relentlessly.

He had first heard of her from that Professor. Sycamore, with his wild curls and childish excitement, had practically glowed at the opportunity of inducting another child into his little squad. Another bundle of potential tucked beneath the wing of his lab coat. The girl, as he had been told, had only just moved to the region. A day shy of eighteen, making her the eldest of the squad of trainers. As to why she had moved with that single mother...the details had been foggy. Now, he realized why...but that was so long after that conversation.

Her name was Porter.

He had wondered if the name originated from the ale, or if it was just a simple nickname. When he asked the Professor, he had been given a mere shrug, his observations dismissed. "See her for yourself! The whole gang will be here soon. I hear Calem and her got their first badges already~!"

When he met her, it had been a brief exchange.

She had been clutching a new pokemon, a Squirtle that was lazily holding itself against her. A parting gift from Sycamore for being such a good pupil. Back then, Porter had wild blonde curls barely contained beneath that small red cap, and it had bounced when she had emerged from that elevator, looking down at the pokemon almost in disbelief. Her team had become two, because he could recall that she only possessed that Braixen. Sycamore had made some parting comment on it, as if he had been concerned as to why she wasn't trying to jam as much information onto her Poke'Dex as possible. He later learned that she was unusually picky when it came to her traveling companions. It was to such an extent, that when they first battled, she was one pokemon shy of a full team. Only five pokemon were in that little Poke'Dex, with only the entries entered from their evolution and nothing more.

She had paused when she saw him, and he had paused in return. It had been a brief silence, but there had been tension. It had caused an itch beneath his skin. Rather then dismissing her, just as he done the rest of her little friends, he could recall making some long winded introduction. She seemed like she was worth the time, and maybe he was still captivated by the intensity of her gaze. He could recall her response, as crisp and as clear as day.

"Porter. Pleasure." So sharp. He should have realized she would be the one to scar him, just from that sentence alone.

In those two words, he had met his match. He just didn't know it yet.

* * *

Of course, that wasn't the only time they saw each other that day. Their second encounter had been at that Cafe, with her trailing behind the weak boy like a shadow. For so long, people had honestly believed them to be rivals. Maybe for a period of time there had been a struggle for power between the two of them...but she was quick to overpower him. Within weeks, she was on a completely different level then the boy. It was amusing. Sycamore had praised the boy first, only to have been proven dead wrong. Whatever potential the boy had was sucked away from him when he stood around Porter, and maybe she felt a bit of pity for it.

But, for now, he walked along as if he was the leader. Like he was coaxing along the little stray at his heels around this new region. Maybe for a time, she fell into this role. Porter didn't know her strength then, and maybe she found some sort of security in following after this Calem. The boy did have a habit of spouting out facts inherited from his parents. It made him seem wiser, but he was nothing more then a Chatot reciting lines from people far more experienced then him. The boy had waltzed into the Cafe, bright and confident, and then came Little Porter. She shuffled behind him with a light gait, footsteps barely making a sound.

This encounter was far less captivating then their first. She hadn't looked at him. Didn't bother to acknowledge his presence or anyone else for that matter. Little Porter was more content with that turtle in her arms, petting and coaxing the pokemon into a slumber. It had been only ten or twenty minutes, and she had the creature so content. It had nuzzled it's blue cheek against her hand, bringing out a soft smile that was solely reserved for her pokemon. The type of motherly tenderness that she would never give to anyone else. Her team would come to adore her furiously. They would lay their life on the line for her, just as she had done for them so many times.

He had been chatting up with the actress, the Champion. Diantha. At the time, it had been so easy to dismiss the presence of the two teenagers and focus it all on who he believed to be the strongest trainer.

Lysandre was later proven wrong with that assumption. In fact, he was proven wrong about a million things. It still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Whatever he had said must have spurred the boy, because he could remember that Calem looked rather conflicted as he listened in on the conversation. _Rude_. Porter had noticed it, as he recall, and had grasped the boy's shoulder. She had brought her hand back quickly, as if the gesture had never even happened.

He had walked away from Diantha, feeling conflicted with the region Champion. The two of them had conflicting viewpoints and he didn't wish to explore their differences any further, and maybe he had spared some sort of greeting towards Sycamore's pupils. Neither of them responded, but as he made his way for the door, he heard Porter's voice. Commanding and clear. "What did you want, Calem?" It had sounded more like an order then a question. Poor thing, so blunt and sharp with her words. It would be awhile until that edge would be softened away...but he still appreciated it, if only because it showed how brutally honest she could be.

The makings of a trainer. Or maybe a Conqueror. The same one that would march to him on his throne and overthrow him. Maybe that was why he found her so fascinating, so long after his downfall. He wanted to recall her rise, wanted to remember every breath and every declaration she ever made in his presence. He had been her first conquest...and far from her last.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: HELLO EVERYBODY! Thanks for taking the time to read this little chapter. Just a fair warning to any new readers, this story will contain spoilers for the X/Y story line as it progresses. And I'm a bit aware that this chapter was a bit...dramatic, but blame that on Lysander for being so over-the-top. I still don't think I got his character down with, but hey, I'm sure it'll all get better over time. (First Fan Fiction, crossing my fingers and hoping it won't be a complete flop.)

Any Reviews and Revisions are completely welcome!


	2. Chapter Two: Unkempt Mane

It was hard to forget a man like Lysandre. Maybe it was the bright red plumes of hair that sparked off from his fresh face. That had been the first thing she had noticed about him. He looked sharp, with spikes and tufts of hair and fur that made him seem imposing and larger then life. It was all an illusion. She had seen him at his lowest, like a Pyroar soaked in water, with a flattened and unimposing mane. Without all his looks and flare (puns aside), he was just a man that had been worn from the world. He had been hurt, and it cracked something inside of him. A wound that wouldn't heal. A thorn in his paw, that made him ferocious and bitter.

It had taken her awhile to find him. Longer then she cared to admit. She didn't tell the others, though she had no doubts they were curious as to why she had been so distant and aloof as of late. It wasn't done intentionally. Her friends were such social creatures in comparison to her. Around them, she felt like something wild, a savage in human clothes. She would rather be left alone to her own devices. Not to say that she didn't enjoy their company...but they seemed to constantly crave her presence, and sometimes it was hard to muster the energy to go along with it.

She had found the lost man along Route 17. Two years after her ascension to Champion, and two years after his defeat at her hands. When she had found him, it was such a depressing sight that she wished to forget it. He was huddled in some snowed in cave, with nothing but a lone fire and scavenged supplies to keep him sustained. His cheekbones were more pronounced, sharp and rigid. There was little youth to him, no fat or suppleness...not even muscle. Lysandre, for all his talk of beauty and glamor...really let himself go.

It was her fault, in many ways. She tore the carpet out from under his feet, right when he had been so close to obtaining his...goal. She still felt a sickness from the pit of her stomach. His plan felt like a twisted joke. He had been so desperate that he felt the need to resort to such measure, and it made her burn with an angry heat. She wanted to take him and shake him. Wanted to slap him furiously...but when she saw him, she knew that wouldn't be happening. Porter had never been the strongest, but at the moment, she felt as if a mere slap from her hand could make his face cave like soft snow.

He was asleep when she found him, surrounded by whatever belongings he had scavenged. She wondered if they were from his personal estate before it was searched by the Police...or maybe from his labs before they were ransacked. Either way, she still couldn't help but wonder why he would sit out here, so far off and alone from the world, in the middle of winter. Route 17 was dangerous when travelers strayed from the roads or from the Mamoswine that usually plowed through the heavy weather...and he was far off path. Deep in the mountain ranges, a place that was more of a graveyard then a tourist attraction. Had he planed on dying here? Rotting away in some cave like an ancient relic?

She had kindled the fire to keep it burning, using a bottle of lighter fluid that she always kept on hand when she traveled. The little flame grew to an acceptable size, one that would actually keep him warm.

...There was silence again, besides the soft sounds of his breathing and the roars of the icy storm brewing outside.

She slowly slid off the trenchcoat she had brought with her, laying it out by the fire and resting the round orbs of her pokeballs in front of her. They would appreciate the heat. Her Salamance, Warren, was probably frustrated at having to fly through a snow storm to track this man down. She didn't blame the Dragon, nor did she blame the rest of her team for feeling this was a stupid endeavor.

It had been a guilty conscience that brought her out here, Sycamore's words echoing in the corners of her mind. She was no longer the Professor's pupil, but she still respected him...and the incident with Team Flare troubled him. The troubling had slowly spread to her as well, even though Lysandre had betrayed her. She hadn't been as close with the man as Sycamore had been...but she felt closer to him than she had felt with her friends.

She had lasted two years before the guilt had finally come to a climax, until she couldn't take it anymore. Porter wanted release from her thoughts, needed to know if the manipulative bastard was dead in the ground or still caught in his despair as she had left him. She felt guilty for overthrowing the king, felt shame when she had broken his crown...even if it was for the right purpose.

When he had just been Lysandre to her, rather then the leader of Team Flare, they had socialized.

Well, maybe socialized wasn't the proper word. He usually carried any sort of conversation between the two of them, but talking with him felt natural. It wasn't forced, like it had been with Calem or Shauna. They had talked often, over the Holo-Clips that he had invented.

Sometimes it was about Kalos, sometimes it was about the Poke'Dex...and sometimes, it was about Mega Evolution. Maybe over time, it bled onto a personal level. She had opened up first, talked about her often blunt behavior. It wasn't in great detail, she was still a very private person, but maybe he cracked a bit as well. They started to slowly agree with one another. The talks never lasted for more then ten or twenty minutes at a time...and they could often be weeks between each other, but they were simple things that she could handle. Not like when it came to other people, when it became a crippling struggle to maintain interest or to interest them in turn.

They would drink at his Cafe, enjoying warm coffee and simple chitchat. It was a rare occurrence, but sometimes she would wandered back into the city of Lumiose and it would have been pointless to talk through the Holo-Clip when he was only a minute's walk away. Those had been simple times, times that had helped her grow, and she slowly had to admit that he played a small factor in the person she was now. Enough to justify her coming out here, in her mind. Pay respects to someone she had tolerated and respected, even if he had spurred her in his own way.

She had sat by the fire, not budging for quite a period of time.

He awoke, groggy and exhausted despite his rest. The man had stared at her with unfocused eyes, murmuring a soft "Are you there?" In a voice so strained it pained her ears. "Are you real?" He tried again when she didn't respond.

"Yes." She spoke softly, trying to find her voice past the lump in her throat.

It took him time to react. He sat himself up from the bedroll he had been encased in, staring at her as if she was lying to him. Silence passed between the two of them, before she finally flicked her gaze back to the fire, hands folded in front of her. What was there to say? I'm sorry I stopped you from activating a weapon of mass destruction by abusing a Legendary Pokemon and almost committing mass genocide?

…Do people normally apologize for that?

His hair was damp, slicked back with either grease or sweat. Not only did he appear malnourished, but in poor hygiene as well. This was the same man who meticulously picked at his clothes when he noticed even the smallest hair out of place.

"Why are you here?" Ah, there he was again. His voice was regulated and controlled, staring at her from across the fire with that hard gaze. He was bristling, like a small pokemon backed into a corner. The man looked like a high flight risk, fidgeting even though he was sitting upright. She tried to give a small smile to alleviate the tension...but to him, maybe he mistook the curve of her lips for something feral. Porter wasn't surprised. The last time they fought, it had been a long and bitter conflict...and in that rush of energy, she wasn't very sportsman like. The battle was more of a brawl, a crime scene, and the power of a Legendary was enough to drive the strongest person drunk with power.

She had been brutal, a monster.

But so had he.

It was the sort of thing that nobody would ever be able to understand, no matter how hard they tried it. It was something that had to be experienced, that desperate rush of adrenaline that reduced them to two humans wailing and punching each other in a corner while their pokemon fought for them. It was almost funny, knowing that two strong figures were so desperate that they engaged in something as barbaric as a fist fight.

...He still had a scar on the side of his jaw, from when she had slashed at him with her nails. It made her feel heavy, and the Champion had to remind herself to draw in a small breath of air to her lungs.

"I found out you were alive."

"And being the hero, you felt some moral obligation to save me? Is that it? Wanted to come up here and give me some hope for the world? Make yourself feel better?" The controlled tone wavered, and she could feel the bitterness behind it. He still believed what he was doing had been right. Stubborn man.

"Fuck you." Felt good to say that. A hero? Is that really what she was?

Well, she did stop him from destroying everything. That was kinda hero-tier, wasn't it? "I don't need to sit here and preach about what's right and wrong. Either way I look at it, you're still an ass. Except, now you're just sitting out here waiting on frostbite to sneak up on you."

She leaned herself back, still keeping up the little speech. Maybe it was time for her to be long winded. "I'm just surprised that the man across from me is so distraught that he's just given up. With me, if something doesn't work right, I at least try to find another route to take. Not just shut down."

He just stared at her, hands clenched tightly. She heard his knuckles pop. "If you had any pride, you would have tried something different." She spat out.

"Only to have you waltz up on my doorstep and destroy all my hard work again?"

"Maybe if you came up with a better method then killing off everything, I wouldn't have to. Murder is a coward's solution. It's when you can't deal with something that you would rather erase it then just buck up and face it." She only received a sharp, bitter laugh in return.

"Serena Porter, trying to be a insightful. You're about as inspiring as a..." His train of thought was interrupted, and he leans his head into his hands, rubbing at his temples furiously.

Porter felt herself bristle at the mentioning of her first name, but seeing him in the state he was in only roused pity. It was enough to make her tuck away her frustration...for now. She rose to her feet and made a slow approach towards the weak man. He had paused, head still in his hands. Did he think she was going to strike him?

She got down onto her knee in front of his bedroll. "Lysandre. Look at me."

"Leave me."

"Look at me."

"I said-" He raised a hand and swung it forward...and she caught his wrist, holding it in tight grasp. The man tried to pull himself away, but in his state, he was practically helpless. His skin was hot and feverish, and there was the scent of heavy liquor that clung to him. The mighty Lysandre, reduced to a man at the bottom of a bottle. Her chest ached. Her fault. Had she been wiser, maybe things could have ended differently.

She grasped the harsh angles of his chin and made him look at her. This was the closest they had been to each other without trying to tear each other apart. With her other hand, she pressed it flat against his forehead. "You have a fever." He gave a low growl in return.

"I don't need your help. You just want to play the role Sycamore gave you." She kept the hand there, ignoring him completely. "I don't need your pity, and I don't need your help. You've done your job. Leave me. Go back to your filthy little world and watch it crumble, but I won't go back to it. I refuse. You can wallow in guilt for not saving me, I don't care."

At this point, his words felt like rambling. She had no reply for him, because he was right. She was here to save him, to help him. Get him off of rock bottom. Make him a better man, like what he could have been. But she was only met with silence as a response.

If he was going to be stubborn, then so would she.

"When's the last time you ate? Last time you had something to drink, alcohol aside?" He tried to pull away, but she pinched her fingers on his chin tightly. He couldn't even break away from that. "I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well go along with this. It'll make everything less difficult." He was silent again.

She looked around at his supplies...and saw a polite row of pokeballs nestled at the foot of his bedroll. She was struck with an answer immediately. "You've been giving your food to your pokemon, haven't you? Whatever is left over is yours...they came first."

He stiffened like a rod. Bingo.

Even at the end of his rope, he gave whatever he had to them. Hard to believe this was the same man that would have killed off all pokemon without hesitation for his aspirations of a better world.

She pulled herself away from him. "I'll be right back, okay? Not like you can go anywhere, anyways." The Champion approached the fire, baring her back to him.

Serena Porter grasped her trench coat and threw it over her shoulders, fastening her team on the belt around her waste. "Warren. We're leaving." There was a hiss of release from her waist, her loyal dragon awaiting her outside the cave, looking disgruntled by the cold. She didn't spare Lysandre another glance. The Champion didn't care if he would spite her for this, but he was now her responsibility. Whether he liked it or not.


	3. Chapter Three: Pancham Express

And she had left, as if she had never arrived in the first place. As calloused as ever, Porter hadn't even bothered to look back as she boarded her dragon, taking off like a bolt of lightning. The little bundle of terror was gone...for now. He leaned his head back against the cold wall behind him. Leaning so close to the wall brought violent chills down his spine, a mix between the fever and the cold stone. He felt miserable. With nothing else to do, he stared towards the burning fire. Had it been burning that brightly before she arrived?

Honestly, he really couldn't tell. It was hard to recall such insignificant things, or maybe his mind was far more preoccupied with her sudden appearance. Seeing the Champion had roused him from the haze that had clouded his mind for months. He rubbed at his chin, rustling his disheveled beard, were she had so forcefully pinched him. She was never one to hesitate when it came to force. The discomfort from her grip was quick to fade. He dropped his hands back into his lap, not sure what to do now. A part of him wanted to block in the entrance of the cave, seal her out for good, but that would be pointless. Snow wouldn't pose a problem for her. The stubborn thing would dig through it with her bare hands just to torment him.

He shut his eyes, also feeling the urge to just fall back asleep again. Sitting upright took more effort then he could ever recall. She had said a fever, and he honestly wasn't surprised. How long had he been trapped up in this cursed cave? It felt like months, far longer then he had stayed anywhere else. Travel had been almost impossible when he had finally trekked his way up the mountainside. Maybe it had been foolish to believe he could outlast the storm that swept in shortly after he set up base.

...He closed his eyes, only for a moment. His eyelids felt so impossibly heavy that he didn't bother to open them again. It couldn't have been more then a second, maybe a minute.

A minute turned into an hour in a flash.

He wasn't sure what woke him, the roar from the Salamance outside, the sound of her soft gait when she returned to the cave...or the smell of food. He managed to crack an eye open, spying the girl standing in front of the fire again, shuffling the weight of several white bags in her arms. She was setting them down by the fire to keep them warm.

Maybe he could just pretend to keep sleeping, ignore her. Maybe she'd go away- "Ah. You're up. Good." Lysandre could have groaned. No, he wouldn't get off that easy. She was just standing there, looking over at him with that one smirk on her face. The type of smirk that made his stomach twist itself into knots. He returned her expression with a tight lipped-frown.

"Here, food." She unceremonious tossed one of the bags towards him. Lysander gave a growl, barely managing to catch the paper bag. It crinkled in his hands, and he stared down at it to avoid the little blight waltzing back to her Dragon.

"There's more outside, give me a sec to bring it all in." She called out to him, and something about her tone made his skin itch. He could never recall her being such a nuisance before. Maybe her time as a Champion gave her more confidence...or maybe he was still bruised from losing against her. Both options seemed perfectly valid.

What did she buy for him, anyways? He twisted over the bag...and saw a logo staring right back at him.

Pancham Express. The face of the little bear was winking at him

She got him _fast food_. A growl rose from the back of his throat.

He was going to kill her. Take that pretty little neck, string her up, and shake the living daylights out of her. It would be worthy revenge for this insult. He bared his teeth and almost tossed the bag into the fire...but his stomach growled something vicious. Damn her. Damn her to hell and back. The first warm meal he would have in months, and it would be something he probably couldn't even stomach.

She returned with even more bags. Had he been in a better mood, he might have found the sight humorous. The champion was over-encumbered, awkwardly trying to balance the weight of the food.

Why did she buy so much, anyways? Was she trying to feed an army?

She settled herself down, tearing into one of the bags like it was Christmas. He glared at her from across the fire, and maybe she felt his glare. "What?" was the only remark he received as the girl fumbled with removing the wrapping on her burger.

"Pancham Express. I didn't know you had a sense of humor."

She bristled, staring right back at him, her lips twisting into a frown to match his own. "What's wrong with it?" As if she had any right to be offended.

What's wrong with it? He felt his brow twitch. "How about everything? Are you trying to torture me?"

"Never pegged you for a picky eater." She finally unwrapped her dinner and took a large bite from it, and he could smell the grease from where he was sitting. That wasn't food, that was over-saturated garbage. He crinkled his nose and felt his gut twist. From disgust, and also because the heavy smell was enough to make him nauseous.

"This isn't food-" He pointed at the stupid little logo. "It's grit and grease slapped onto a grill. How could I possibly stomach this?"

"I doubt they put grit in soup...?" He stared blankly at her. Soup? What? He looked into the bag and paused at the small round container. He pulled the cup out, lifted up the plastic lid, and sniffed the contents. It was salty and strong, and he pulled his face away from it. Soup or not, it was just as rich and heavy as whatever she was eating.

"...Did you honestly think I'd be stupid enough to bring a sick man a double-pounder with fries?" And to his horror, Porter seemed to find that hilarious. He heard a restrained laugh escape her. "Oh Arceus, I forgot to get you a milkshake with extra whipped cream. Maybe onion rings-" She cackled like a devil.

"Yes. Soup from some drive through, oh what a modern world we live in." Was the only response the man could muster, trying to remain deadpan.

"Hey, I had to stand in a line for that."

"A line? Well, then it must be quality."

"Let's see you find a five-star restaurant open at 3 in the morning." She bit into her burger again, and to his horror managed to swallow it down after only a couple chews. What was she, an animal? He couldn't recall her manners ever being so atrocious...but then again, she had only ever sipped coffee with him around.

He frowned, staring down at the container as if it was radioactive.

"Are you seriously going to be such a baby about this?" He glared at her in response, and maybe his glare enough to warrant a small "Sorry, sorry." She raised both hands as a peace gesture. Might have worked if she wasn't still clutching onto her meal.

"I'm just surprised you can be so stubborn. If I was as malnourished as you, I'd eat anything you'd put in front of me." He felt his lips tighten into a straight line, not looking very amused with the Champion.

"If you were sick, I'd have the decency to not poison you." And, as if to prove her wrong, carefully sipped whatever was in the paper cup. It was warm and almost burned his tongue, but that was easily ignored. He grimaced and pulled his head back. "What _IS_ this?"

"Miso Soup. Sorry, they didn't have Chicken Noodle in stock." And she gave a light shrug. Of course, it wasn't her problem. She HAD a meal that she could stomach. He took another hesitant sip, and then a long gulp. The soup was too heavy and strong, but maybe that was because he had gone so long with little rations of food. It settled at the bottom of his stomach like a boulder. He snapped the lid back on. She looked up from her meal and frowned, except this frown wasn't directed at him. "I got some other stuff, if you think you could stomach it better."

"More take-out?" He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

She gave another shrug. "I didn't think it'd be a big deal, was all I could get at this hour."

"My needs have been sated." She snorted at that, but it was the truth. He shook the container of soup, realizing that he had sipped down half of the contents. Lysandre frowned, tucking the soup back into the bag. "I don't understand why you brought so much back with you."

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. It made him cringe. If she had done that at his Cafe, he wouldn't have hesitated to correct her. She would have listened to him then. It was too late to correct now, his complaints would fall on deaf ears.

Thankfully, she had enough manners to swallow before speaking. "Figured your pokemon might be hungry too."

"..." He gawked at her.

"...What?" Now she just looked surprised, maybe his disbelief disturbed her.

"You feed your Pokemon human food?" He ran a hand through his hair, and tried his best to ignore the shiver of disgust that went up his spine from feeling how slicked it was.

"...Well, yeah. Do you expect me to have them live off Poke Puffs? They need protein."

"Porter. I ran the factory that manufactured Poke Puffs. They have protein in them. They have fiber and countless other things as well, all designed to keep a pokemon healthy." He couldn't fucking believe it. The Champion of Kalos had a team of mooches. No wonder they loved her so dearly, she spoiled them rotten. If it wasn't for pokemon battles and training, he had no doubt that they would all be overweight and lazy. "Didn't your mother tell you to never feed pokemon scraps from the table?"

"...She told me the opposite."

He was rubbing his face in his hands in disbelief. "...My team is satisfied. They may not be sleeping with full stomachs every night, but what they eat is enough to sustain them."

She frowned and looked like she was ready to argue with him, but he raised a hand. "There isn't enough room in the cave for some of them, and we'd be better off waiting then letting some eat and letting the rest be aware of it. Wouldn't be proper." And maybe he was hesitant to let any of his pokemon out of their pokeballs. He wasn't sure how they would react to her presence. As deeply as he cared for his team, they weren't as obedient in comparison to Porter's. If they wanted to fight, he wasn't sure if he could stop it.

"You going to head to bed, then?" She tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat, and he wondered if this was when she'd take her leave. He gave a slow nod to her question.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning then." And...he was wrong, yet again. She stretched out her arms and yawned, looking like she was going to sleep on the hard ground rather then leave.

His face fell. "You're not staying the night."

"I flew all around Kalos to get you dinner, and it's subzero outside. Hell yes I'm staying here."

Had he been in better health, he would have stood up and forcefully kicked her out of the cave. That wasn't an option right now, so to his chagrin, she would have her way yet again. He can a dejected sigh and laid himself down on his mat, pulling the warm covers over him again.

"_Good night Lysandre~_"

...She was going to be the death of him.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **Thanks to everybody for the follows and reviews, it's greatly appreciated!


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